The Loyal Heart
by Sathaeri
Summary: Skyrim: Lydia gets a Thane - and a name. Oneshot.


There had been a debate about her name – her _name_, of all things – when she was born. Lydia Rule-Taker. Lydia the Braver. Lydia Far-Blade. Lydia Shallow-Brain.

Every single one of the suggestions, she hated.

_Well, maybe except for one of them_, she thought, swinging her sword hard into the stuffed dummy on the rack. The only real problem was that the parents and grandparents would try to give a name that suited the child later in life. But the future was always fuzzy to Lydia. Fuzzy like... like a small rabbit. Fleeting, too. _That works_, she thought.

The thing about the names was that it dictated how you were, how people saw you. If she had been Lydia Rule-Taker, wouldn't people always assume she abided by the rules all the time? Even "Braver" wasn't that much more of a compliment. She did tend to rush into battle sometimes, but there were plenty of soldiers headier than she. Shallow-Brain was the worst of them. It wasn't like she didn't have a mind of her own, after all. She just followed the rules. Sometimes.

As for Far-Blade, another person had beaten her to it. Hanjorlif Far-Blade, that was the name. Hanjorlif had always been difficult to pronounce, so she'd just called him Hans. It worked just as well.

With another swing of the blade and gash in the wood, Lydia wondered where he might be now. He had moved away after the fire that destroyed his house, and her house. She remembered that day clearly. Having been only fifteen years old at the time, she figured that was pretty good. But she had no intention of recollecting that memory now.

_Parry, jab, sidestep, thrust_, she told herself, following the same pattern she had before. A part of her asked why she even bothered following these moves. The rhythm of battle was unpredictable and always changing; the real strategy was adapting. _Hard not to "adapt" to the retaliations of a dummy_, she thought, letting her sword fall to her sides.

Briskly she walked to the small side table and gulped down water from a small flask, rubbing her eyes afterwards. She had always dreamed of being a soldier, but she was better than that. And yet, what was this life? Lying around, killing nothing but wooden dummies and time?

Her gaze turned once again to the dummy on the rack as she bit slowly into a tender loaf of bread. She sighed. Might as well.

Lydia lifted her sword again, twisting it around with her wrist as she approached the false enemy. With a grunt and a heavy swing, she slammed the blade into its hollow body, releasing a small puff of fluffy material. Finally she brought the hilt of the blade down on its head, smashing it right in, and with a spinning flourish, sliced it clean in half. Its downy guts flew around her, landing in her hair and mouth. She coughed.

Suddenly she stopped. Footsteps were approaching. She quickly gathered herself, dusting off the feathers and trying not to look like a fool. By the Nine – _er, Eight_, she quickly corrected – if it was Irileth she was going to–

"Lydia!"

She looked up from the smashed dummy to see very woman she had been thinking about giving her a look of appraisal. Gods, she always hated that expression. "Yes, Irileth?" she managed in her nicest voice. It didn't come out right.

Irileth pretended not to notice. "Come, girl," she beckoned, motioning with her armored hands. "I have a new job for you."

"The privy backing up again?" she deadpanned, sheathing her steel sword as she jogged forward to walk alongside the dark elf.

"Actually," she said, very matter-of-factly, "you're a housecarl. Congratulations." She didn't sound at all excited.

"Housecarl?" Lydia frowned slightly. "To who?"

"To the new Thane of Whiterun, of course." Irileth smirked. That look irritated her so much. As if I should know, Lydia thought.

Their path brought them to the foyer of Dragonsreach. "Wait here," Irileth ordered.

Lydia crossed her arms. "Why can't I just look for him myself? I don't have to stay here. I'm not just some child."

"I know, I know. Please," she said, shaking her hands in front of herself, "don't pester me with those rebellious comments of yours. I've got better things to do."

"When it comes to me, you always have better things to do," Lydia huffed.

Irileth turned, giving Lydia a look she could only read as wistfulness. "That is true," she said quietly. "When it comes to what's important, you're not high on that list." The Dunmer walked up to her, placing a hand on her shoulder that seemed neither forceful nor friendly. "But you are a good soldier. Better than any regular soldier. You are an extraordinary fighter, Lydia. And you will be doing something important for all of Whiterun, maybe even all of Skyrim."

Lydia was struck speechless for what seemed like an eternity by so much uncharacteristic praise. When she finally found her tongue, she managed to ask, "What do you mean, important for all of Skyrim?"

It was clear the Dunmer was struggling to find the right words. "The Thane is... special. More I'm not so sure about; something to do with those Nord legends of yours. But you are to serve him, to the best of your ability."

"I know" was all Lydia could manage.

Irileth released her shoulder and stood back, creating a conspicuous distance between them. "Fight well, housecarl." She began to walk away.

"Wait!" Lydia called out.

Irileth turned, one hand on the hilt of her sword and one eyebrow raised. "What?"

Lydia shook her head. "Why me?"

Irileth sighed in exasperation. "Must you always question everything?" Before Lydia could say another word, the elf continued. "You were chosen because you have great prowess as a fighter, and are the keeper of a strong, loyal heart. That is why."

The Jarl's housecarl turned her back and stalked away almost contentedly. Lydia stood there in the foyer, flabbergasted. A strong, loyal heart? Not once in her life had anyone said that to her before, and of all the people she expected to hear that from, the last one was Irileth. But perhaps there was truth in her words, in what she said. _Of course there is_, she snapped to herself. _She's been a housecarl since Balgruuf was the Jarl._

She could hear Balgruuf talking to someone from deeper into the palace. Footsteps began, and she realized they were walking in her direction. That must be the Thane.

Lydia straightened herself, broadening her shoulders, and as she waited, she thought more of what Irileth had said. A strong, loyal heart. Loyal heart. Loyal-Heart. A pang of déjà vu hit her. Hadn't she been thinking of names earlier? Lydia Loyal-Heart. It was a good name. Why hadn't her parents thought of that? Lydia Loyal-Heart. Loyal. Heart. The more she repeated it in her head, the more she liked it. It was fair and not too obnoxiously arrogant, but more than anything, it _fit_. Lydia Loyal-Heart. Lydia. Loyal. Heart.

It was her name.

As the new Thane – her Thane, as it was – neared the steps that led down to the doors, Lydia tried her best to suppress the ecstatic smile on her face, bracing herself for whatever adventures there were ahead. She had a name to live up to, after all.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:** No dashes allowed in titles? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO :[_

_Part of a oneshot series revolving around Skyrim. edit: Solyeuse is correct! Apparently Dovahkiin is a guy in my happy-Skyrim-land. That's okay, 'cause there are tons of female Dovahkiins around here anyway._

_Anyway, they might *seem* out of character, but really, do they have much character at all? (Just look at Lydia...)_

_If you have a suggestion for this or more oneshots, I would gladly hear them. Until next time! ;)_


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